


confession

by OneWhoTurns



Series: first impressions: the modern au [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Assassin's Creed: Syndicate, Drunk Jacob Frye, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 22:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17537771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneWhoTurns/pseuds/OneWhoTurns
Summary: A drunken Jacob knows exactly who's window to fall through when he forgets his keys.





	confession

A wet mouth nuzzled against your neck, lips grinning against your skin. "Did I ever tell you how much I like you?" His arms wrapped around your waist from behind the desk chair, enveloping you in a warm hug.

You slipped a hand back to comb through his hair, and he gradually leaned into your touch. Scratching lightly at his scalp for a moment, letting his satisfied hum vibrate against your shoulder, you soon wove fingers into a tight grip. "You're drunk, Jacob." You gave his hair a slight tug, stomach dipping at his responsive groan.

"Oh, very."

You had to smile at that.

"I'm sorry, love." His breath was hot against you, tone almost sheepish. "I'll be good. Promise."

It wasn't the first time he'd come crawling through your window in the wee hours of night. Luckily - or maybe not so luckily - he'd broken the screen on his first attempt and you had since switched to a sort of netting while you waited for campus housing to replace it. It meant things were broken far less often. It also meant Jacob knew the one window he could get into any time he was missing a key card. And you had begun to wonder if he just didn't bother bringing his keys out at all anymore.

You hummed absently, twirling your fingers in his hair, finding it hard to concentrate on the textbook in front of you with his warm and alcohol-scented body at your back. He was always an affectionate drunk. Your other hand tapped lazy fingernails against the open pages, tracing the last part you'd underlined, trying to re-read it. The exercise was made more difficult as your ministrations made him groan again, slipping his face into the crook of your neck, the rough brush of stubble tickling your flesh.

Your motions finally faltered as his mouth opened, his words and mouth too warm on your skin- "God that feels so fucking good."

You froze, his profanity snapping you back to your senses, feeling a tingle of shame trembling over your body. Drawing your hand back, you pulled away with a small sigh. "Let go, Jacob." Your voice was quiet, cheeks burning as you placed both hands on the textbook before you. He was drunk. Just babbling. You were just the girl he knew would take care of him. The responsible one. And if you let it be anything else, you wouldn't be being very responsible.

He whined but released you, taking a few steps back and flopping - fully clothed, boots and all - onto your mattress. His eyes were closed as he smirked to the ceiling, voice thick as though he might trip over his own tongue as he pouted, "So mean."

The distance cleared your mind a bit. You rolled your shoulders back, tucking a bookmark into your schoolwork, and stood. Time to be the Responsible One. You turned on Jacob with a resolved determination.

Reaching for the mini fridge, you grabbed a bottle of Gatorade in one hand and your stash of Advil in the other. You were a little too satisfied by his audible 'oof' as you gently tossed the drink onto his stomach. Tipping out a couple painkillers, you walked closer to offer them. "Open up."

He'd pulled himself into a sitting position and obediently opened his mouth, hands busy cracking open the bottle.

You raised unimpressed brows. You weren't about to do it for him. "Go on." You held the pills out, but he made no attempt to pick them up. Instead-

You felt goosebumps break out on your skin as one of his hands held your wrist, lifting your hand to his mouth to tongue the pills from your palm. Your lips pursed, mouth gone dry and gaze flicking away as he pressed a kiss to your palm utterly casually before releasing you and taking a swig out of the bottle.

Damn it.

_Ignore him._

Clearing your throat, you flicked at his knee. "The whole thing," you reminded him sternly. "Drink up."

That damned smirk. "Yes, mother." You shot him a look but his smirk didn't falter - nor did his eyes leave yours as he tipped the bottle back, draining it in a few long gulps, the whole time his too-bright gaze burning into you. When he'd finished he let out one of the most melodramatic noises of a thirst quenched that you had ever heard. You raised a brow, scoffing a laugh.

His hand covered yours on his knee, leaning toward you. "Anything else?" His voice was low and jokingly sultry. At least, you were pretty sure it was joking. The finger tracing circles on the back of your hand made your cheeks warm and your mind wonder.

You leaned just the slightest bit closer as well, voice just as low but tone brokering no nonsense: "...And two more bottles of water," you instructed.

Jacob rolled his eyes before falling back against the bed, arms sprawled on the duvet, groaning.

"I see you're taking the bed," you pointed out with a wry smile as you lifted the discarded Gatorade bottle before it could spill onto the covers. "Such a gentleman."

His head lolled lazily toward you, eyebrows lifting suggestively. "We could always share…"

Again, you snorted a small laugh, letting out a sarcastic hum. There was a moment of amiable silence as you ducked below the bed to grab a bottle of water from the fridge as well, thrusting it into his hands before taking the emptied Gatorade bottle into the bathroom.

Rinsing it out, filling it with tap water, you returned only to stop short, finding Jacob's leather jacket tossed haphazardly on the floor- along with his boots. And his shirt. Jacob was leaned back where your bed met the wall, dutifully draining the first bottle of water, fixing you with a too-innocent look as you re-entered.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Raised brows implied an exaggerated _who, me?_ as he gestured to the bottle still at his lips. "Mmhm-hmmhmhm."

"Yes, I _see_ that. But why-" you gestured to the clothes on the floor.

"Missed the laundry." He shrugged. "Plus-" Toes flexed in his socks, wiggling at her, "No boots on the bed, right?"

You pushed his boots under your bed with the rest of your shoes, their thick soles dwarfing yours. That was your rule, yes. One he almost always forgot. A brief thought flickered at the back of your mind, wondering just how drunk he really was. The thought gained some traction as he slid across the bed to hang off the edge, leaning toward you and taking the second bottle, his grip covering yours for a long moment. Without the shirt he'd been wearing at the pub, the scent of alcohol had diminished greatly.

He studied your face, eyes still just a bit too bright, cheeks still flush. He was awfully close.

"Did I ever tell you how much I like you?" His words were a murmur, but there was no slur to be heard.

You hesitated. But you didn't move away. Your reply was slow, careful.

"...Maybe once."


End file.
